


Not Running Away Any Longer

by Doilooklikeicareatall



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluffy, M/M, but only to start, so damn angsty, sooooo cliche though, trust me its a fluffy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doilooklikeicareatall/pseuds/Doilooklikeicareatall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That night was a disaster, Michael knew. Noone else understood the reason why Gavin left, but they all knew why Michael changed. </p>
<p>So Michael decided to get Gavin back.</p>
<p>Because he couldn't let him just leave after what he figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Running Away Any Longer

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is one of the first uploaded works I will be posting. I probably won't post often, but this is an alternative to posting on Tumblr and being ashamed of myself later.
> 
> Speaking of, I do have a Tumblr. Actually, it's also my username on here. I believe in multi-access.
> 
> Crap, I'm rambling again, sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoy my stuff!

The house is dark. Cold. It would look untouched, if not for the half-empty teacup that sat at the end of the dusty dining table. The cup of milky liquid was cold, and it looked like the only thing that had been moved in that part of the house.

 

The mantelpiece in the tiny living room was dusty, photos and statues and a clock, filmed in grey. Except for the one photo, propped up in the middle against a statuette of an angel. It must have been taken out of its frame, or maybe it didn’t have one because it was just a small piece of photo paper.

 

The photo was of four people, side-by-side. 2 of the faces were almost unrecognisable. One face was scratched off angrily, almost gouged off entirely, but the long, red straight hair and golden patterned dress was familiar. The other’s face had been carefully worn off, almost as if fingers had constantly brushed over that one spot in hushed reverence. But the unruly mop of copper curls was as familiar to the man looking at the photos as his own hand. It was much longer than it was now, but he could recognize his own hair when he saw it.

 

The man let out a sad sigh as he took in the familiar dark-haired man, stubble obvious, who had his arms around the other two men in the shot, the one with the worn-off face next to the woman with the gouged-out one, and the other man stood to the other side of the dark haired man, and this time, there was not a sigh, but a choked-back sob, as he looked at the final man in the picture.

 

That last man wore a goofy smile, probably too goofy from all of the alcohol he had drank that night. His dark blonde hair was wildly mussed, and not in the casual way he usually styled it, but a way that showed he had been running his hands through it in frustration. His hazel eyes were not on the camera, the camera that the man knew had been held by a blonde woman named Barbara. He remembered her for a second with a smile, thinking she was probably wondering where he had gone, like everyone else in the office was, before he went back to the photo. The blonde man’s eyes were peering over at the man with the curly hair. The man did not notice though, smiling at the camera with his arm around the waist of the redhead.

 

This time, a soft sigh. “Even then, I guess I should have known. You were fuckin’ everywhere I went with that shit-eating grin, those wide eyes, and that stupid as dicks way you always used to say my name. It was fucking obvious to everyone except me back then.” A sad glance at the redhead. “She knew as well. Maybe better than everyone else. She always did. Maybe that was why she left.”

 

A soft sound from the stairs caught his attention. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a grim smile. “I know you’re here, idiot. Your fucking tea gave it away. Am I going to have to come and find you, or will you come out on your own and save me the trouble of finding your stupid ass?”

 

Nothing.

 

He sighed in frustration. “Fine. Hide if you like, but I’m not leaving this fucking apartment until you come out and tell me why you left.”

 

He sighed again, this time shaky. “I just wanted to see you again. It’s been a fucking year since you left, and I want to know why you chose to shut me out completely. You talk to everyone else at the office, they talk about it when they think I’m not listening. But you won’t say a fucking word to me. Not since the night you left and I am sick to fucking death of missing you!”

 

Another soft sound, one that almost sounded like crying. And the man now had to bite back another sob. “I’ve been counting, you know. Since you left. It’s been 12 months, 2 days, and a little bit. That’s how long it’s been since the night you left. Not that it matters. That night gave you more than enough reason to leave.”

_\------------------_

_The numb haze of alcohol. The glowing red of her hair. The smug grin of the dark-haired man, and the blonde woman. The other man’s soft smile as he watched the copper-haired man. Then suddenly, lips. Lips, tongue, teeth in a dizzy frenzy, swollen lips, red and bruised. Hands against hips, around necks, around waists. Hair being pulled and mussed, clothes rumpled. And as they parted, hazel eyes open, dark and wanting. The man remembers opening his eyes wide, almost fearful._

_“I-I...I..”_

_“It’s okay.”_

_“B-but..I...you..”_

_“Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean a thing if you don’t want it to.”_

_“A-are you f-fucking kidding? Of f-fucking course it means something!”_

_“You… should get back to your fiancee.”_

_“No.”_

_“No?”_

_“No. I’m not leaving until I know what just happened, and I know that you’re okay.”_

_“I’m fine. Just go.”_

_“....R-really?”_

_“Yeah. I’m tippity top. Just go. Forget about this.”_

_“B-but….”_

_“Please.”_

_“....If you say so.”_

_A soft sigh._

_“Goodbye… Michael.”_

_“I’ll see you soon, Gavin.”_

_Footsteps trailing away. Broken sobbing._

_“No, Michael. You won’t be seeing me anytime soon.”_

\---------------------

The soft sounds of someone crying finally brought Michael back to reality, to the empty apartment in California that Gavin had rented out that night and had been living in since then. The one that Michael had to beg Geoff to give him the address for.

 

“She really did leave, Gav. After that night, I couldn’t sleep right any more. I always dreamt of you. Couldn’t sleep without whispering your name as I woke up in tears. I never used to cry, you know. But now…” A sniffle. “...I can’t seem to stop.”

 

Still only silence.

 

“Come on, Gav. Talk to me. Something. Anything to let me know that you don’t hate me."

 

Nothing. Then a text message on Michael’s phone.

 

_I could never hate you._

 

“Well, you’ve done a pretty fucking good job of convincing me and everyone else otherwise.”

 

Another message.

_I just can’t see you anymore, Michael. All you do is make me remember._

 

“Remember what?”

 

 

The soft chime was almost melancholy.

_That I can’t have what I’ve always wanted._

 

A sigh, running fingers through messy curls. “...Come on, Gavin. Please. Just talk to me, with that stupid, amazing accent, you don’t even have to come out if you don’t want to. Just let me hear your voice again.”

 

A pause before the phone rang. Michael picked up immediately.

 

“....Hello.” The voice is raspy with tears, quiet and sad, but the accent is unmistakably him.

 

The American man lets out a soft sob of relief. “H-hey, Gav… I’ve missed you.”

 

 “I’ve…. I’ve missed you too, Michael.”

“Will you come out and talk to me now, please?”

 

Silence.

 

Michael’s voice is strained and thick with unshed tears.

“Please.”

“You… don’t want to see me, Michael. I… I’m not really doing so well right now. I look a fright.” 

 

"You think I fucking care how bad you look? You’ll always be Gavin to me. You’ll always be my boy. With that goofy smile, those eyes that can always find the beauty in everything, that huge fucking nose of yours, and that hair that never manages to stay flat. That’s all you, Gav. Always has been.”

 

For a little, all the man can hear is the soft sniffles and sobs from the reciever before a strained whisper broke the almost silence.

“So come and find me.”

Then the call ended.

\------------

The curly-haired man moves quickly, searching the kitchen, stairs, bathroom, bedroom, places he knew Gavin would hide in a tense situation, until he finally found the last place he hadn’t checked.

He stands in front of the closet door and murmurs softly, “Gav?”

“...Yeah.” The soft whisper was strained, and soft sobs echoed from inside.

 

Michael takes a deep breath before opening the door. What he finds inside boths relieves and terrifies him.

\---------

Gavin looks so different. So pale. Much too pale for California. He was skinny, bony, like he hadn’t eaten for a week. His messy dark blonde hair fell almost to his shoulders, brittle and dull from lack of care. His nose looked like it had been broken again. Injuries that looked self-inflicted stood out on his pale skin, and his eyes, that used to hold such light, so much life, were now dark, broken and lost, surrounded by bags and dark bruised rings of purple.

 

 

Michael murmured, “Christ, Gav.”

Gavin let out a small chuckle, cold and hollow. “Yeah.”

 

The American slowly entered the closet, moving close to Gavin and stretching out a tentative arm, pausing when the Brit flinched. He waited for a second before moving again, and brushing tender fingertips against a bruised cheek.

 

All of a sudden, Gavin flew into motion, launching himself into Michael’s surprised arms and clinging tightly, sobbing harshly into the other man’s shoulder.

Michael sat silently, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Gavin was here, and in his arms, like he’d dreamt of for months on end.

He began to whisper soft reassurances in the blonde’s ear, stroking his hair with a featherlight touch.

Gavin babbled between sobs, “I-I’m s-so.. s-sorry.. so sorry, Michael… I n-never meant to hurt you.. p-please believe me… I missed you so very much… Don’t l-leave, please… please j-just stay….”

“Of course I’ll stay, Gav, you’re my boy. I’ve missed you too. I’ve been a fucking mess, just ask anyone at the office.”

“I have.”

“Hm?” Michael’s question was curious, and slightly confused, and Gavin was a little sheepish when he responded.

“I call Ray and Geoff every few weeks to check on you. Did you really almost quit work for me?”

“I… couldn’t stand the empty desk next to me. I spent a week off because I couldn’t focus on anything. I didn’t eat or sleep, or do anything but try and find you. And I only relented to begging Geoff for your address two days ago.”

“Two days?”

“I packed some stuff. And got up the nerves to come in the first place.”

“....But, two days?”

“I packed a lot.”

Gavin hesitantly pulled back, eyes containing a hint of the sparkle, of the life they had once contained. “Y-you… want to stay? W-why?”

Then he went on a tangent about how much of an idiot he was for leaving, how much he’d missed Michael and everyone else, how sorry he was, but all of that was silenced with the soft press of dry lips to Gavin’s forehead.

Gavin went quiet and sat entirely still while the redhead continued.

He felt lips against his eyelids, his cheeks, jaw, chin, the tip of his nose, his neck, his shoulder, his hands.

 

“Why?” The Brit’s voice was a barely audible whisper.

 

“Because…. it took me six months to come to grips with the fact that I’ve loved you all this time, and another six months worrying that you wouldn’t feel the same. I didn’t want to have to wait any longer.”

 

This time, the man in his arms cried harder, clinging to him more tightly. “I l-love you too…. s-so much, Michael… I’m so very sorry for leaving you..”

Michael just smiled. “You’re my boy, Gavin. I’ll always forgive you.”

 

They sat there in the dark closet, arms wrapped tightly around each other, until Michael murmured into Gavin’s hair, “Mind if we get out of this fucking closet? My back’s been killing me for the past five minutes.”

A soft chuckle, before he felt a nod against his chest.

The two climbed awkwardly out of the closet (no pun intended), with Gavin clinging tightly to Michael’s hand, desperate to make up for all the time he had missed.

\--------------

They clambered onto the bed, seemingly exhausted. They rearranged themselves under the blanket, and the British man moved closer to the American, burying his face in the other’s chest, breathing deeply and memorising the feel of Michael’s arms finally around him.

A soft whisper against Michael’s chest. “Michael, may I kiss you?”

The response was a small smile and a slow, tender press of lips to Gavin’s own.

The kiss was perfect.

The next kiss was fevered and desperate.

The one after was languid and unhurried.

And all the ones after, for the rest of the night, and a long time after, were filled with love and unspoken promises, with fear and happiness, and with the certainty that neither of them would be running away again anytime soon.

\------------------

And they figured it was worth the distance.

Because they found each other anyway.

And always would.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh so yeah that was a thing.
> 
> It was actually un beta'd, so if anyone notices any glaring omissions, or any problems with the story in general, just send me a message or something, either here or on my tumblr. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, it means tons to me~


End file.
